


Safe & Sound

by PaperBodies



Series: tumblr posts [4]
Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Developing Relationship, I mean, M/M, Tenderness, they're in a relationship, they're just real bad at saying it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-18
Updated: 2020-11-18
Packaged: 2021-03-10 06:48:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,508
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27619271
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PaperBodies/pseuds/PaperBodies
Summary: Billy stared up at the ceiling.He has Some Feelings, and that's pretty much what happens!
Relationships: Billy Hargrove/Steve Harrington
Series: tumblr posts [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2014972
Comments: 4
Kudos: 56





	Safe & Sound

Billy stared up at the ceiling. It was different from staring at the ceiling in his own room, which always felt a little like a cage, or a trap. The walls always felt like they were closing in there, probably because they always were. There was no safety to be found in that house, no matter how hard Billy tried to carve out a space that was just his.

Here, though. Here felt different. Here, he started to understand why people used the expression ‘safe as houses.’ Steve hated this house, always said it was too big, too empty, too sterile, but Billy loved it. It smelled good, in the subtle, expensive way that Steve always smelled good, and the carpets and sheets were all thick and soft, and there were so many different places to be. It felt separate from the rest of the world, like he could actually hide away here and never be found. This room in particular was a sanctuary, in every sense of the word. He wasn’t sure if that was because it was Steve's or not, but he thought it probably was.

He turned his head to look at Steve, fast asleep on the pillow next to him, breathing slow and even. It was only ever here, in the darkness and the solitude of late night, that Billy let himself actually admit how fucking _into_ Steve Harrington he was. Only when he was alone, only when Steve was asleep and there was no risk that anyone would see the potentially fatal weakness at the center of him.

Steve didn’t sleep easily or well, and Billy felt a fierce sense of pride that he slept better when Billy was here. He had learned, through careful experimentation, that he could reach out to gently brush the hair back from Steve’s face, could run a fingertip, feather light, over the curve of his cheekbone or the sweep of his hip, and Steve wouldn’t wake up. He might stir, might reach sleepily for Billy’s arm or throw his own arm across Billy’s chest, but that wasn't exactly a deterrent, now was it? He was careful, though. Steve needed the sleep, and Billy was hiding the frankly humiliating desire to give him everything he ever needed, preferably before he realized he needed it, so. He rationed out the light brush of his fingertips against Steve’s skin while he slept, and memorized all of it. Because as safe as he felt here, and as foreign and exhilarating as it was to start to accumulate multiple days that actually felt good, there was a part of him that knew this couldn’t last.

His dad would find out and murder him, or Steve would wake up one day and finally realize that he could do a lot better, or some other disaster would come along to ruin it. If there was one lesson Billy had learned since his mom left, it was that he didn’t get to keep good things. And Steve was perfect, so he had to assume the clock on this thing was pretty fucking short.

He brushed a lock of hair out of Steve’s face, more exquisitely careful than he would ever dare to be when anyone could see him. He let himself stare, just taking in Steve’s face, marking every detail so he had it for whenever this thing blew up and he was back in his normal life, back in an uninterrupted string of bad days. He could get his head around those. It was the days like this that were so disorienting.

“I’m going to miss you so much,” he found himself barely breathing into the darkness, confident that Steve wouldn’t hear him. “I don’t know how I’m supposed to go back to how it was before.” It was true: having had this, having learned what the occasional full day without fear felt like, having learned that he had the capacity to be content instead of angry all the time, he worried that he didn’t have enough armor left to go back to life without days like this. And God, he wanted to be _so mad_ at Steve about that; he had made himself vulnerable for this beautiful idiot--even if he wasn't sure he could ever admit it to anyone except himself--and he knew he was going to have to pay for it at some point. He just...couldn't manage to stay mad at Steve. It wasn't like any of this was actually his fault. He hadn't done anything except be way too pretty and far too forgiving and completely, stupidly irresistible; Billy was the one making all the dangerous choices here. He wasn't about to stop, either—moments like this were beyond worth it—but he wasn’t looking forward to the day it all fell apart.

Steve stirred next to him and Billy froze. He had been careful; Steve could not have heard him. He never said sappy shit like that if there was the slightest chance that Steve could hear him. He closed his eyes and cursed his stupid fucking mouth as Steve tucked his head further under Billy’s jaw and Billy instinctively closed his arm more tightly around him. He hadn't ruined this already, had he?

“Not allowed to go anywhere,” Steve muttered next to him. He didn’t open his eyes, and his voice was blurry with sleep. If he was awake, it was barely. This could still be salvageable.

“Oh yeah?” Billy murmured back, keeping his voice soft. Steve tightened his arm across Billy’s chest.

“Everybody leaves, so you have to stay,” he said sleepily, as if it was just an obvious truth, and goddamn, mostly-asleep Steve didn't pull his punches. Billy prided himself on being pretty fucking observant, so he was well aware that the only reason Steve had so much time to spend with him now was because there had been so many hours in his days before when he had been achingly, painfully alone. It made him sort of generally furious at everyone in this awful town when he thought about it, so he tried not to think about it. “You have to stay,” Steve murmured again, eyes still closed, his brow furrowing, the slightest thread of distress in his voice now. Billy knew that the smart move here was to keep his damn mouth shut and not expose his gooey fucking center any more than he already had, but Steve made him so stupid and he couldn’t help himself. He leaned down and pressed a kiss to Steve's messy, perfect hair.

“I’m not going anywhere, ok? Go back to sleep. I’ll be right here.” The worst thing about it was that it was the truth; he had no intention of going anywhere. He would spend as much time as possible here, in this big fancy house, in this room that felt like sanctuary and smelled like Steve, for as long as Steve continued to invite him into it. Steve tried to snuggle closer, as if there had been any empty space between them anyway, and then settled. His breathing slowed and evened out. Billy watched him go back to sleep and then went back to staring at the ceiling, heart pounding in his chest. God, he was so in love. It was _infuriating_.

He took a couple of long breaths, trying to slow his heart rate, and then figured that if he was going to be an idiot tonight, he might as well fully commit to it. For just a moment, in the darkness and solitude of Steve Harrington's bedroom, he allowed himself to consider the possibility that he wouldn't have to give this up. That disaster wouldn't come. That he could get out of Neil's house in less than a year and have a life made up exclusively of days like this one. He sat with it for a minute, let himself taste the freedom and the comfort of it, let himself admit exactly how much he wanted it, and then he let the part of himself that knew better shove all of it back down. That particular fantasy was fucking _intoxicating_ , and he couldn't afford to let it make him careless or soft. He knew what it felt like now, though; he could take it out and treasure it when he was back in his own room for good, trapped and furious and alone, lost in a sea of bad days. Until then, he figured he should keep going, try to memorize as many moments in as many good days as he could.

He turned his head so he could get a better whiff of Steve’s fancy shampoo, and then went back to staring at the ceiling. He knew he was going to drift off at some point, and he knew he would regret it later. He was greedy; he wanted to memorize as much as he could about times like this, warm in Steve's bed, safe and sound, listening to Steve's even breaths next to him and feeling confusingly, impossibly _good_.

**Author's Note:**

> If you want the full vibe, listen to 'Good Day' by Angels & Airwaves while you read. 
> 
> Being confused that he is enjoying a good day struck me as very On Brand for one Billy Hargrove, and now here we are.


End file.
